


The Modern Commander's Armory

by mydocuments



Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Background Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Girls Supporting Other Girls, background Peter Parker/Felicia Hardy, background Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson - Freeform, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 10:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18689539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydocuments/pseuds/mydocuments
Summary: The printing press is the greatest weapon in the armory of the modern commander. - T.E. Lawrence





	The Modern Commander's Armory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boyo44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyo44/gifts).



> The original requester asked for Ben Urich and MJ in a mentor-mentee relationship. Somehow Karen Page came along for the ride. Takes place mostly pre-game, but some post-game and post-DLC content. 
> 
> Fair warning, I know NOTHING about print journalism.

Mary Jane Watson doesn’t set out to change the change the world. She doesn’t even start out trying to set the record straight regarding Spider-Man. Mostly she’s just pissed off after reading a different variant of the same article in the Daily Bugle for a solid week. She’s not even a journalist and she knows she can do better work than that.

It’s easy to find the form online for freelance submissions. Easier still to talk Pete into a choice quote or two, for the record. Less easy to knock out a thousand words on the subject of Spider-Man’s latest Midtown dust-up, but she cracks her knuckles and gets to work anyway. The next thing she knows, she’s sitting in front of Ben Urich’s desk, her palms sweaty with nerves as his eyes scan the page.

“You’ve never written professionally before.” It’s not a question but MJ answers it anyway.

“A few press releases for my Stark Industries internship,” she replies, pointing to the relevant line on her scant resume that Urich hasn’t even glanced at. “Other than that, no writing experience.”

Ben Urich sighs and lays MJ’s article aside. His knuckles are knobbly with arthritis, she notes, and the whites of his eyes yellowed with age and too much time in the bottle. But when he pins her with a scrutinizing look, she sees nothing in his expression but years of experience. 

“I can tell,” he tells her. “Your formatting is shit.” He steeples the tips of his fingers in front of his mouth. “But I’ll give you credit, there’s meat in this, once you trim the fat away.” 

MJ doesn’t know quite know what to say but Urich keeps talking. “You know Spider-Man, I’m taking?”

It’s a completely obvious question in retrospect, but even so, MJ is caught by surprise. She blinks.

“It’s fine,” Urich waves away her concern. “Every good reporter has their sources.”

“Erm, he only agreed to talk to me on the condition that his identity was kept anonymous.” 

“That’s standard super-hero operating procedure, you’ll get used to that. But that wasn’t my point, Ms. Watson.” Urich levels another glare at her above the lenses of his thick framed reading glasses. “The Daily Bugle isn’t a pro-vigilante publication. What are you gonna do when we ask you to write something unbiased but negative about your little boyfriend? You think you can handle it?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” MJ snaps before she realizes what she’s saying. But from the expression on Urich’s face, it was the right response.

“Spider-man and I are **not** romantically involved,” she clarifies. “He’s a friend, one of my oldest friends. Nothing else.” Not anymore, at least. 

MJ continues, “Even if I didn’t know him, I’d like to think I’d still be sitting here, Mr. Urich. I’m not here to write you a thousand fluff pieces. I’m here because no one is writing the stories I want to see told... I mean, isn’t that why everyone who writes starts writing?” 

The late afternoon soon casts deep shadows across Urich’s office on the top floor of the Flatiron Building. Much of Urich’s lined face is in shadow but she can still see it the second he makes up his mind. He slides her article back across the desk.

“You have 24 hours to get this into AP Format and to trim two-hundred and fifty words. You’re paid by the word, Watson, and we don’t pay for fluff at this publication.” 

MJ’s grin feels like it might split her face in half. She grabs her article and resume and tucks both back into the faux-leather planner she’d picked up at the 99-Cent store just for this occasion. “Mr. Urich, I promise you’re going to like the things I write. You’re not going to regret taking a chance on me.”

Ben Urich raises one greying eyebrow in response, but his voice is warm nonetheless. “I’m certain I’ll like what you write, and equally as certain that I’ll end up regretting this. You have that pain-in-the-ass sort of energy I’m well familiar with.

“Your second draft is due at noon, tomorrow,” he tells her as she gathers her stuff. “I’d suggest you get to work.”

* * *

She doesn’t always work with Ben, quite the opposite, in fact. He’s not just the lead of Metro IJ, the Bugle’s investigative journalism team, he’s also the editor for the entire Metro News section of the Bugle. More often, she’s paired with Karen Page, a leggy blonde in her early thirties who works the crime beat with an amazing talent for sniffing out a story. From Karen, MJ learns how to tail a subject, how to follow the lead’s financials, and how to get behind the police barriers _without_ getting arrested (it’s a long story). She learns which detectives won’t tolerate the press, and which ones can be bribed, with anything from coffee to Cuban cigars (another long story). 

Most importantly from Karen, she learns the ins and outs of being a female in the business, including how unfairly it treats them all. Not that MJ expected it any other way.

They’re sitting in East River Park watching the traffic decidedly _not_ moving on the FDR, the Williamsburg Bridge looming grey in the distance. The last time MJ had went over the bridge had been her high school graduation, held carefully in Pete’s strong arms as he ran vertically up the towers, too quick to be seen by traffic below. There’s a picture hidden in the pages of her senior yearbook, developed by Pete, of the two of them grinning and off center, taken with Pete’s analogue SLR rather than their phones. 

“It’s ridiculous,” Karen rants around a mouthful of pastrami and rye, bringing MJ back to the present. “Why can’t he leave the whole Punisher thing alone? How many times do I have to hear it? And to be accused, even in a roundabout way, of sleeping with all my sources?” She gestures with her sandwich and MJ watches a pickle fall out and land on the dirt. “You’d think Jameson would know the definition of slander, given how many times he’s been sued for it. Just because he has some stupid little podcast, he thinks the rules of journalism don’t apply to him anymore.”

MJ lets her bitch and get it out of her system, knows she could just as easily be the one targeted. She makes the appropriate sounds at the appropriate times in the conversation, and tries not to imagine what would happen if Jonah accused her of an inappropriate relationship. Karen has enough clout in the journalism community that this will roll off her back, but something like this could end MJ’s career.

She can’t help herself but ask Karen, “aren’t the rumors about you and Castle true though?” It’s something they’ve both hinted at, their relationships with various vigilantes, but nothing that either have overtly confirmed to one another. 

Karen shoots MJ a look. “There’s a reason, let’s just say, that I don’t cover the costumes beat these days. Even at the beginning, if it involved Daredevil or the Punisher, I recused myself. I’ve worked too hard to prove myself, MJ, and one stupid move can make it all disappear.” 

MJ notes that Karen doesn’t actually answer her question, just redirects like a pro.

Later that night when she meets up with Pete to go over the details of her Shocker story, she can’t help but let her mind wander back to her conversation with Karen. They’re playing a dangerous game, Peter feeding her intel and quotes, it’s only a matter of time until someone links the two of them together. 

Even later, she can’t help but let her mind wander a little more, thinking about the good times with her and Pete, and how things might be different if they hadn’t broken up. The issues between them are still there, but don’t seem as fraught anymore, the further she’s removed from the situation. Instead they’re replaced with new and different issues, her career a big part of them. She rolls the thoughts round and round in her head until she finally falls asleep without ever coming to an answer. 

Or, if she’s being honest with herself, without ever even understanding the question.

* * *

“I’ve got a scoop on a museum robbery that might be right up your alley,” Ben tells her when she hits the office one Monday morning, tossing a thick file folder on her desk. It’s ancient, held together with cracking rubber bands, and there are typewritten pages sticking out of it at random. “Looks like it might be a copycat.”

“Copycat, huh?” MJ asks, sitting her coffee aside so she can start digging through the file folder. “What’s his MO?”

“Her MO, Ms. Watson, and I’m disappointed in your sexist presumptions.” Ben gives her a wry look and MJ scowls. She’s lectured Ben too many times to count not to treat her like a girl.

MJ snorts. “Point taken. What’s _her_ MO, then?” 

“The usual,” Ben shrugs. “Expensive art, all stolen without a trace. No witnesses, no security footage, no prints.” 

MJ cocks her head in confusion, “what makes you think she’s a copycat then? What makes you think she’s a _she_ even?”

In response, Ben digs out a dossier from the back of the file. “Walter Hardy, the original Black Cat. Eluded cops all over the boroughs for most of the 80s and 90s. One of the best art thieves in the game.” He flips to another section of the file. “Arrested in 2000 after getting caught up with the Maggia. He died in prison.”

Ben tosses something else on her desk, a rolled up copy of the New York Post, a tacky-yet-alliterative headline about a third museum robbery done in bold red across their cover. “Over the last three weeks, three pieces that Hardy previously stole and which were returned to their museums — all of them have vanished without a trace. The only evidence is a set of scratches on a window frame in a building opposite the Keller. It resembles the marks that Hardy’s grappling hook used to leave behind.” 

“Dead men don’t use grappling hooks. Or, you know, steal art in the first place. I get why you think its a copycat, but I’m still lost on the rest of it.” Something catches her eye on the last page and then she makes the connection, blurting out, “Hardy had a daughter.” 

She starts digging through the file that Ben brought her without even waiting for his answer and doesn’t even notice when he walks away with a smirk on his face. Two hours later she’s got a dossier together on Hardy’s daughter, and an idea about which museum might be next on the list.

MJ works the case for a solid month, interviewing guards and detectives alike, reviewing through security footage, and staking out the Guggenheim, home to another piece liberated from Hardy’s stolen collection. It’s the kind of set up that the new Black Cat surely can’t ignore, except where she can. There’s no further thefts and no way for MJ to link the crimes back to Hardy. 

She tries texting Pete about it a few times, but he’s uncharacteristically quiet, blaming his Particle Physics exam for his absence. She believes him up until Buzzfeed bulldozes over her story’s narrative with a collection of viral videos one night.

Karen texts her at three in the morning, a quick link to a Buzzfeed article, with a follow-up _You know Urich will want at least 1000 words on the subject._ MJ clicks the link because how can she not? She ignores the writing, scrolls until she gets to the videos. The first one is shot from a neighboring high rise window, showing Spider-Man fighting side by side with a woman in black leather armor and a grappling hook, the two of them working to take down the Vulture. By itself, this wouldn’t be newsworthy, especially not three AM newsworthy. Superhero sightings are more popular in New York than celebrity sightings. But the next two videos are what make it. 

In the second video, you can see Toomes throwing the girl off the top of the Conde Nast building. It’s shot from street level, the cell phone footage blurry, but it's impossible not to miss her head of long, silvery hair streaming in the wind. _Felicia Hardy_ , her mind supplies, the new Black Cat, her hair just as startling in color as it was in the old college yearbook photo MJ had found. 

Black Cat shoots some sort of line from her wrist as she falls, similar to Peter's webshooters, but catches nothing but air. If MJ didn’t know everything ends okay, her heart would have been in her throat by the end of the Cat’s seven second free-fall. 

But, at the last instance, Spider-Man swoops in to save her, a Hail Mary swing that makes good but ends with the two of them rolling across the pavement in a crash landing, coming to a stop in the middle of Broadway. The second video cuts off there, but a person filming from across the street caught the last part — Spider-Man going in for a desperate, adrenaline fueled kiss with Black Cat, slipping his mask up just enough to facilitate. Buzzfeed is going wild with speculation.

MJ has to force herself to ignore the green-eyed monster that immediately and unexpectedly rears its ugly head. She makes herself crawl out of bed and pours a glass of water from the fridge, then sits at her laptop to contemplate her angle. Buzzfeed is already dubbing Black Cat a heroine, no mention of her real identity or her infamous father to be found in the write-up. MJ wonders, is anyone else is exploring the connection?

She wonders too, how the hell does Peter know her?

It’s six in the morning by the time MJ emails Ben her copy, a study in pointed neutrality regarding Spider-Man and the Black Cat’s relationship, instead focusing on the fight and closing the piece wondering if the Vulture gotten away due to all of the distraction on the ground? It’s a little on the nose but she figures Peter deserves it. By the time she drags herself back out of bed, Ben’s response is in her inbox. He gives her the go-ahead, lets her know her piece will be published in the evening print edition, but immediately available online, the first article in the rotating banner at the website’s header. 

Peter texts her three times that evening but she clears the push notifications without even looking. It’s hard enough as it is to maintain her journalistic integrity.

* * *

Her and Karen’s lunches turn into a regular thing without either of them really realizing it. MJ is glad, she doesn’t make girlfriends easily.

“There’s an opening on Bobby Carr’s team covering Metro Politics. Bigger team, more inches to work with. Better hours too,” Karen starts to tell her one afternoon as they’re sitting in Bryant Park, having lunch. Before MJ can respond, they’re both distracted by the wind blowing the ends of MJ’s hair into the mustard of Karen’s hot dog. For lack of a better option and not a napkin to be found anywhere, MJ ends up sucking the mustard from the ends of the ponytail, their previous conversation thoroughly derailed.

It’s not until they’re headed back underground at 42nd Street to catch the M-train that their conversation wanders back to work. 

“What were you saying earlier, about Bobby Carr?” MJ remembers to ask as they crowd onto the busy subway car. She ends up pressed between Karen and a woman in nurse’s scrubs, trying to ignore the way she’s practically crammed into Karen’s armpit. 

“There’s going to be an opening on Metro Politics. Mindy Lopez is out on maternity leave, and the rumor is, she’s not coming back.” Karen meets her eyes, gives her a serious look. “Are you really going to cover the capes beat forever?” 

“Honestly,” MJ admits over the screaming of the train’s brakes, “I don’t really have a plan in mind. I never set out to be a journalist at all. My degree is public relations, you know. I never wrote professionally before my job at the Bugle.”

Karen tosses her long hair, then immediately has to apologize for hitting the person behind her with her purse. “What does that matter? I don’t have a degree at all. I went from corporate secretary to legal secretary to the Bugle.” 

“I just don’t know if I want the Bugle to be my career?” MJ lets out a long sigh, she’s been thinking about this a lot recently. “The whole reason I got started in the first place was partially to help my friend, and partially because I got sick of reading the same recycled garbage every week.”

“And here we are, a year later,” Karen points out. “You barely talk to your friend, never even use him as a source. You’re producing interesting, relevant, fresh content on your own. You’re talented in your own right, MJ.”

The two of them shift around to make room for some school kids crowding in at the 33rd Street stop. Karen waits until the doors close before she continues speaking. 

“Here’s the thing, you’re not going to change the nature of the beast — writing for a publication like the Bugle is always going to come with its set of strings attached. But you can do more than just covering whichever random psycho is threatening the City this week. You have the ability to change lives at the local level with a gig like Metro Politics.”

The train blows through 23rd Street station without so much as slowing down, no warning from the conductor about the sudden express route, and then they’re in Union Square before MJ even realizes, their conversation cutting to an abrupt end. 

“This is me,” Karen tells her as she starts to edge her way toward the door. “I’m headed to Greenpoint to check out a lead on my human trafficking case.” They hug and exchange somewhat sweaty goodbyes, then Karen hip checks a teenager unwilling to move from the door.

As the train clears out below 14th Street, MJ finds an empty seat and leans back against the sticky plastic. While she heads out to Bushwick to chase down a lead of her own, she lets herself think about everything that Karen said, not even noticing the view as the train crosses above the East River on the Williamsburg Bridge. When the doors open at Myrtle-Wyckoff, MJ’s mind is made up and her shoulders feel a whole lot lighter.

* * *

The Metro Politics beat is the right move at the right time for MJ. Harry’s dad — Norman Osborn — is running for Mayor, and she’s thankful to exploit their friendship as often as Mr. Osborn will let her. Thanks to Harry, she has more choice quotes and ground level access than any other reporter in the City.

Ben loves the work she does for the Mayoral race, calls her into the office the night of the election to sit and watch the returns. Osborn is winning by a landslide, which is good, considering the Bugle endorsed him. Ben pours MJ a measure of rye that leaves her coughing and sputtering at the burn. Then, they sit and bask in the satisfaction of a job well done.

“Not bad with your turn at politics, Ms. Watson. Excellent job at getting comprehensive coverage.”

“I can’t take credit, Ben. Harry Osborn is a childhood friend of mine. I leveraged that for access.” She knocks back the rest of her drink with a little shiver.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Ben’s tone is sharp. “A good reporter uses all of their resources to get the full picture. You being friends with the guy’s son, that just got you in the door. If you weren’t doing the work, you’d never have gotten in a second time.” 

Ben goes to refill her glass but MJ waves him off “I don’t have your tolerance. Another drink and you’re pouring me in the back of a cab.” 

Urich just winks at her, “if I ever get worried you might accept, I’ll stop offering. I’m a greedy old codger, Watson. This leaves more for me.” 

“So what’s next for Metro Politics when there’s not an election to cover?” 

Ben leans back in his cracking leather chair, propping his heels up on the scarred corner of his desk. “What’s not next?” he replies airily. “Crime, corruption, dirty dealings -- all of those go hand in hand with politics, even with someone like your friend Mr. Osborn.”

“Sounds like a blast,” MJ snorts.

“Well, if Metro Politics isn’t your thing,” he shoots her a sidelong glance, “there’s a spot available for you on the Metro IJ team.”

MJ feels like she’s frozen in place, her heart starting to hammer in her chest. Her brain rewinds the words to make sure she heard them correctly. She opens her mouth but can’t make any words come out.

“Karen’s quitting,” Ben goes on. “She’s taking an editor’s job at the New York Bulletin. I wanted to be the one to tell you... Wanted to be the one to offer you the spot.”

She digs her nails into the knees of her jeans to keep from responding with a truly embarrassing, full-body wiggle. When she’s finally able to speak, her voice is breathy but otherwise normal. “You mean the investigative journalism team that brought down Aleksandr Silvermane and John McIver? You mean that Metro IJ team?”

“One in the same, Ms. Watson. Can I assume you’re interested?”

The work she does for Metro IJ is harder than anything she’s done before, and more dangerous. Ironically, she ends up seeing more of Pete now than when she was covering the superhero beat. His relationship with the Cat seems to have fizzled, and Hardy’s not been seen in a few months now. She hears from Harry that he’s dating first Cindy Moon and then Carlie Cooper. Good for him, but MJ doesn’t have time for romance. 

MJ covers the Kamari Ojeda case with Ben and together, they help to hold the PDNY accountable for their gross negligence and mishandling of the case. After that, she does research for Robbie Robertson to cover the Cecil Anad trial, though less comes of that when Anad’s acquitted of all charges. 

When the PDNY takes down Fisk, she and Karen uses Karen’s connections with ADA Nelson for an insider’s view into the prosecution’s case. The Bulletin is covering the case with weekly updates, and Karen’s lead on that story, despite her editor’s status. The Bugle is going for the bigger picture, and that’s where MJ gets the lead about Fisk’s art collection. 

She’s been in a lot of close situations since becoming a journalist, but this is the first time she’s truly feared for her life. When the Demons storm into the auction house and attack the curator, MJ panics for about five seconds, then forces herself to get a grip. She takes advantage of a moment in the chaos to slip out of Rossman’s office. MJ darts into a service corridor and ends up in a storage room with an EXIT sign lit in neon green at the far end of the room. 

She realizes with a start that there are two thugs in masks webbed up and hanging in the rafters, then relaxes a little to know that Spider-Man’s on the scene. Suddenly there are footsteps coming around the corner so MJ quickly darts into the shadows. She sees the familiar red and blue of Peter’s suit come through the door first, and is just about to reveal herself, when another masked thug comes up behind him with a gun. 

The golden statue she finds on one of the shelves is reassuringly solid in her hands as she sneaks up on the conversation. She takes a deep breath and before she can hesitate, brings the heavy weight down on the back of the thug’s skull. He goes down with a heavy thud and MJ lets out a long, low breath. 

“Hey, Pete.”

* * *

She meets up with Karen for lunch one unseasonably warm day in Mid-March. They’ve both been outrageously busy, first with the Devil’s Breath crisis and the City-wide Maggia war that followed. MJ’s life has been up and down lately, having only days to recover from the heartbreak of losing Aunt May before getting wrapped up in all the bad luck that seemed to follow on the Black Cat's tail. She’s glad to have some time to relax for a change. She and Karen perch on a bench in Grand Ferry Park, the sun hot on their uncovered heads. MJ brushes sugar from her churro off her jacket, and finishes the dregs of her cafe con leche in a long swallow. Karen has a smudge of chocolate at the corner of her mouth, which MJ points out with a wink.

Once they’ve both made themselves post-lunch presentable, their conversation wanders to Karen’s latest project that she’s wrapping up, an analysis on the Maggia leadership that’s left in the wake of the Hammerhead incident. After that, a recap of the happenings at Ben’s 65th birthday party last week, then a pair of shoes that have absolutely changed MJ’s life. 

During a lull in the conversation, Karen gives her a sly glance and a sing-songy “sooo, how’s your love life?” 

MJ laughs, a little incredulous, a little nervous. “You ask like you already know.”

Karen nudges her with an elbow, “Ben may have mentioned that someone sent you flowers to the office last week. Daffodils, if I heard correctly. A favorite of yours?”

“Yeah, he is a favorite of mine.” MJ grins, deliberately misunderstanding. “The flowers are pretty great too. We’re... we’re trying to make it work.” She shoots a tentative glance Karen’s way, worried at what she might see on the other girl’s pretty features. “Do you think it’s a bad idea?” 

Karen scoffs and waves the question away “that’s on you, MJ, I don’t know why the two of you broke up. Don’t ask me for romantic advice.” 

“I’m not,” MJ tells her. “I’m asking you professional advice, from an associate editor at the Daily Bulletin, to an associate editor at the Daily Bugle. Do you think it’s a bad idea that I’m romantically involved with Spider-Man?” 

“Associate editor?” Karen’s eyebrows shoot up practically to her hairline. “”You can’t just drop that on me mid-conversation. We’re going to come back to that, but I’m going to answer your question first.” 

She shifts on their park bench, tucks one long leg beneath her so she can turn and face Mary Jane; her face is serious while she chooses her words. “Take it from someone who knows, being involved with the guys in the costumes this intimately? It always complicates things. But when you’re someone like you, someone who is passionate and driven like you? Life’s complicated anyway. It always will be, that’s just life. But I trust that you have the journalistic integrity to stay in the right.” 

“Well, you know, I had some great teachers with you and Ben.” MJ tells her, reaching in for a quick hug, squeezing tight.

“So, congratulations seem to be in order. Well done on the associate editor’s position, that’s a big step for you,” Karen tells her as they stand and start the nine-block walk back to the Bedford Avenue stop. “What’s your next project?” 

“I’m headed abroad, actually. To Symkaria. First to interview a group of local midwives in a town with no hospitals left standing, then to the capital to cover the rebuilding efforts of the city. I’ll be gone for 3 months.” 

Karen whistles, “how’s your arachnid-friend taking that one?” 

“Well, you know,” MJ tells her with a shrug as they turn the corner onto Metropolitan Avenue, “it’s always going to be complicated, right?” 

“Are you turning my words against me?” Karen asks with a smile. “Did you learn that from Ben?” 

“You know it, Page.”

“Next thing you know, you’ll be gunning for Ben’s office.”

MJ feels her cheeks flush at the idea. “For now, I’ll stick with mine, but who knows, in the future?” 

“Dream big, Mary Jane. You’re a bad bitch”

“Thanks Karen, you too.”

“Thanks.”


End file.
